


Stalling

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Crowley is a stubborn demon, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, mention of all the naughty business Crowley wants them to get down to, when he can have his husband all to himself, with no intention of socializing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale is trying to get Crowley dressed and ready for a party at Anathema's cottage.Crowley is trying to do pretty much the exact opposite to Aziraphale in favor of a private party at home.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560190
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	Stalling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Drawlight's '31 Days of Ineffables' prompt 'holiday card'. No, I swear it was. Then, things happened ... XD EDIT*** Oh, and 'reindeer'.

“Crowley! Dearest! Can you please hurry up? We’re going to be _late_!”

“Do we _have_ to go?” Crowley’s disembodied voice echoes from another room. Which room, Aziraphale has no idea. Considering Crowley’s expert avoidance techniques, he could be in the walls for all Aziraphale knows. Or on the ceiling.

Aziraphale doesn’t peek up to check. He doesn’t want to encourage his husband by indulging him in this obnoxious game of _Go Seek_ , and besides …

… the thought of Crowley stuck to the ceiling like a giant, humanoid gecko creeps Aziraphale out.

“ _Yes_ we have to go!” Aziraphale calls, straightening his bowtie for the fifth time. For some reason, it refuses to lay straight.

He suspects that may be Crowley’s doing, to get back at him for forcing him out of bed.

“We accepted this invitation from Anathema and Newt over a month ago,” Aziraphale continues, giving up on the tie. “And you know how humans are about time.”

“They’ll understand,” Crowley argues in a muffled voice, fortifying Aziraphale’s guess that he may be slithering through the drywall. “We’ll send them a card. Something Christmas –y … Santa and his reindeer visiting baby Jesus on the front. Oh, wait … she’s a witch. And he’s … uh …”

“Something having to do with computers.” Aziraphale winces as he tries to help. They know so very little about Newt, about their human friends in general. That’s why Aziraphale wants to go to Anathema’s party. He feels it important they get to know these mortals who have declared themselves their _friends_.

Seeing as they put their lives on the line to help save the world, Aziraphale feels he owes it to them.

“Computers aren’t a religion.”

“ _You wouldn’t know by the way most mortals treat them_ ,” Aziraphale mumbles. “They said no cards. No presents necessary. Just the pleasure of our company.” Aziraphale smiles. “I don’t know about you, but I quite like the concept of people wanting me around for _me_ and not for what I can bring. So let’s get a move on. I’d rather not be too …” Aziraphale turns on his heel and Crowley is there, still dressed in his favorite satin pajamas, hair a disaster, staring drowsily at his unreasonable husband. He tries to use the same sappy doe-eyes on Aziraphale that the angel uses on him to get his way.

But it doesn’t work on Aziraphale.

“… late.”

“We’re _really_ going?” Crowley asks.

“We’re _really_ going.”

Crowley huffs. “ _Fine,_ ” he drawls in irritation, turning dramatically back towards the bedroom and storming off. “I’ll go find something to wear.”

“Why don’t you snap your clothes on like you always do?”

“Don’t wanna.”

Aziraphale chuckles humorlessly. “You’re _stalling_.”

“I’m not _stalling_.”

“You’re acting childish.”

“No, I’m not …”

Aziraphale hears Crowley toss open his closet door and start rummaging through its contents, banging metal hangers together, throwing his version of a tantrum. A minute later, he calls out. “I need your help, angel.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “With what?”

Crowley emerges wearing trousers and a button down. _A good start_ , Aziraphale thinks, until he notices Crowley’s shirt isn’t buttoned.

And neither are his trousers.

“Windsor knot.” Crowley stops in front of Aziraphale, his hands hovering by his shoulders as if he’s trying not to touch anything.

Aziraphale scrutinizes his husband’s outfit, a judgmental eyebrow raised. Crowley isn’t dressed much differently than usual with the exception of a skinny black tie hanging around his neck that, regardless of being the same color as the rest of his ensemble, doesn’t seem to fit.

“Really?” Aziraphale sniffs. “You’ve been tying Windsor knots since Windsor knots have been invented and you can’t tie this one?”

“Nope.”

“And why haven’t you buttoned up?” Aziraphale steals a glance down Crowley’s chest, between his pecs, over his abs, and down to his …

Crowley clearing his throat pulls Aziraphale’s gaze back to his face so quickly, his eyes nearly roll back in their sockets. He blushes furiously at the smirk on Crowley’s face, the smug _knowing_ look in his eyes.

“Nails wet,” Crowley explains, turning his hands and wiggling his fingers so Aziraphale can see the fresh coat of black polish on his nails.

“And you can’t miracle them dry?”

“Not tonight I can’t.”

“Any reason?”

“One. But the way you’re acting, I don’t know if you’re going to like it or not.”

“Ugh!” Aziraphale throws his arms in the air, knocking his already crooked bowtie askew. “You’re _impossible_!”

“No, I’m not. I’m rather simple, actually.”

“You’re right!” Aziraphale growls, fuming. “You _are_ simple! You just _need_ to get your way! You didn’t want to go in the first place, so you’re sabotaging my evening!”

“That’s both true and untrue.”

Aziraphale feels a headache coming on. His hands find his spinning head and his head drops into them. “Do I want to know why?” he grumbles into his palms.

“Possibly.”

“Then tell me.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to go in the first place. But I don’t need to have _my_ way. I need to have _your_ way.”

“As in …?” an exasperated angel groans.

“Your way … with _me_.”

Aziraphale peeks up from behind his hands, not sure he buys a single word of his husband’s excuse. And even though the grin on Crowley’s face makes his head spin faster, he’s momentarily too intrigued to mind. “How’s that?”

Crowley leans close, whispering in Aziraphale’s ear, down his cheek, around his lips. “My nails are wet. I can’t touch anything like this, can’t control anything like this. I’m completely helpless. You can do whatever you want to me and I can’t do a thing about it … can I?”

Aziraphale’s spinning head suddenly switches directions, filling with a multitude of raunchy images – him tying his husband down to their bed, tearing his clothes off of him, teasing his naked body mercilessly with his mouth, his hands, the feathers of his wings …

… a few choice toys Tracy Shadwell gifted Aziraphale with during his bachelor party …

As with his constantly shifting bowtie (the very thing Crowley’s wrists are bound with in this impromptu fantasy), Aziraphale is certain Crowley is behind it.

He knows Crowley came up with this idea off the cuff to win this argument.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have merit.

“N-no,” Aziraphale stutters, his mouth completely dry. “I guess you can’t.”

Crowley’s grin curls so high up his cheeks, it swallows his eyes. “I’m sure Anathema wouldn’t mind if we missed _one_ of her parties,” he says, luring Aziraphale back to their bedroom with his eyes, his voice, and his half-dressed body, like some lustful Pied Piper.

“No,” Aziraphale agrees, slipping out of his coat and untying his traitorous neck wear, “she wouldn’t. We could have them around for drinks some other night this week. Couldn’t we?”

Crowley nods condescendingly. “Yes, we could. So whaddya say, angel? You okay to sit this one out?”

“I believe … yes.” Aziraphale snaps his fingers, shutting and locking the bedroom door behind them. “That sounds like an excellent plan. B-but just this once.”

“Just this once.” Crowley backs his way towards the bed. He throws himself backwards on it, making himself vulnerable to the whims of his advancing husband, the hungry look in Aziraphale’s powder blue eyes making Crowley’s mouth water. “Good thing …” he says, bucking his hips, “seeing as how I have the perfect place for you to sit …”

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was supposed to be a cute little one-shot about sending Anathema a Christmas card to explain that they wouldn't be attending for amorous reasons. That all got tossed in favor of this, I'm afraid XD There will be two more in this vein - one showing the bachelor party and the aftermath of the presents Tracy got Aziraphale, and what happens on the bed with Crowley's wet nails ;)


End file.
